Back to the Game
by Lydia0501
Summary: It tells a story about Sherlock's returning, and his new case with Dr. Watson. It reveals a shocked secret of the evil criminal.


Wu 13

Chapter 7 Return to the Starting Point

"There is one thing, one more thing, one more miracle. Sherlock, for me," John Watson took a deep breath, shutting his eyes, "don't be...dead."

"Keep your eyes fixed on me!" Sherlock was standing on the the roof of Buzz of Medicine. "Please, can you do this for me?" The wind messed up his curly hair, his face looked even much thinner, "this phone call, it's...it's my note."

"Stop this, just stop it." The sweat had soaked through his shirt. John painfully murmured under his breath. The same nightmare still frustrated him. Sherlock's sad eyes, prominent cheekbones, and deep voice always appeared in his dream, kept reminding him his best mate would never be back at his side.

"Goodbye, John."

"No. Don't...Sherlock!" Abruptly, John waked up, with his terrified shouts. He breathed heavily, pulling out his wet shirt. He couldn't sleep again this night. Sitting in bed, he stared the dark world outside the window, falling in to a long silence.

John Watson returned to his formal career-being a doctor in a community hospital. The heavy blow two years ago made him become a clam. He couldn't control himself to think of what happened the day Sherlock died-their last conversation was full of pain.

In the last battle with Moriarty, Sherlock jumped from the roof, and that ended everything. The evil criminal could never wake up, but Sherlock, the most brilliant and personable man in his mind, would never come back.

John moved out of Baker Street, leaving his nightmare behind him. "I must move on," he said to Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. He bitterly smiled, gave the sad woman a comforting squeeze, then left the flat where he spent three happy years of his life.

London was in its rainy season, and John sat behind his desk, checking the casebook of his last patient today. He flipped and read it out in a whisper. "Old Jack, occasionally feels dizzy, and suffers joint pain on rainy days..." At this time, someone knocked on his office door.

"Is that Jack? Come in please." John tried to squeeze out a pleasant smile, welcoming his old patient who came to see him twice a month. "Sit here, Jack. Don't worry, it's not a big problem, you know, when people get on in years, they are easily..."

The old man seemed a little different from the past, he looked down the floor and interrupted John's words. "How have you been lately, Dr. Watson?" He lowered his voice, trying his best to control the tremble.

"Same as usual," John replied, preparing the alcohol cotton and the blood needle. "Come here, Jack. We need to do some basic check first."

No one replied. "Jack?" John felt strange. He stopped his work, raising his head, and two years vicissitudes of life made tiny wrinkles appear on his forehead.

He thought he would see Old Jack's gray hair, but he was wrong. The black color violently broke into his sight. Slowly looking down from the black curly hair, he saw a bony and tired face with a faint smile.

John lunged to his feet, and the white mist started rotating in front of his eyes. When the mist disappeared, he saw Sherlock sitting there, a gray wig thrown on the floor.

John closed his eyes, counting to three in his heart, then opened his eyes again. Sherlock was still there.

"Well...the short version," he said, "not...dead." The tremble and low voice was coming from the chair opposite. John felt a severe headache, and his temples throbbed with the rush of blood. "Sher..." He reached up to grasp that familiar tall body, but the strong heartbeat forced him to fall into his chair, and he couldn't move at all. It felt like he had dead for a long time, but suddenly someone forcibly revived him. In his lifeless body, the blood in his veins began to stung him, and there was even a roaring in his ears.

John couldn't remember any other details. The first sentence he said when he woke up again, was "why," full of simmering anger. Sherlock looked at him, and apologized. "I am sorry, really. It has been hard to contact you in these two years. When Moriarty and I were on the roof, I know I must be dead, and that is one part of my plan. My brother, he is my partner of the plan." Sherlock rapidly stated, crossing his hand in front of his chin. "My brother revealed some of my personal information to Moriarty, as an exchange, he gave my brother information about his underground network. He is insane, obviously, so I must kill myself and made this hit the headlines to satisfy his desire first." Sherlock excitedly stood up, his eyes baked to the spirits of the past. "Do you know the result, John? I nearly found all of his criminal network and finished them, but I felt like there is still one in London, at here, hiding under my eyes. That's interesting, John, like cat-catch-mouse game! I need your help. Actually, I am waiting for you to get back, my doctor." Sherlock raised his voice. He didn't realized that his old friend's face was turning red. John clenched his fist, finally lost control and shouted.

"Bastard, Sherlock!" He rushed over and pulled on Sherlock's collar. "You, disappeared for two years. Two years! Just one call, one call is enough. At least let me know you are alive!"

"I tried..."

"Now you come back! You disguise yourself and had me fooled, it that interesting?" John's hands grew tighter, looking at Sherlock just like looking at a psychopath. "Now you come back, and ask me to do those stupid things with you again. God, Sherlock! Don't you know anything about human nature?"

"I said I am sorry!" Sherlock shouted as well. "Can you say you never miss the battle? You are in danger. Moriarty wants to completely destroy me, there must be one of his organization survive, and hide here. I think their next target is you, John, so I need you to fight with me!"

The hands on the collar loosened, there was complete silence for a few moments. John looked at the tall man in front of him. He made his collar stand up, looking at him with sincere and great expectation. "Oh...God."he sighed, and realized he was shaken by him. Sherlock was right, he missed the old days, which were full of invisible smoke and fire. Though he was still angry, he subconsciously wanted to back to the old time, the war time.

"Welcome back to battle, John." Sherlock held out his right hand, shaking with his dear friend. "The game, John, is on." Sherlock's green eyes lit up.

Chapter 10 The Last Bow

The sound of a violin resounded in the flat on Baker Street, Sherlock was standing next to the window, in front of him was a chunky music score.

"Composing, Sherlock?" Said Mrs. Huston, the good-natured old lady. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm so glad you are back. And you, John," she walked to John and gave him a hug, "It's good to see you move back."

"We are all glad." Another woman's voice. That was Molly Hooper, who sat there, tightly holding the cup, uneasily looking at Sherlock but avoiding his eyes. It is not a secret that she liked Sherlock. Today she wore a beautiful purple skirt, as lovely as the violent on the spring morning.

"Oh, Molly, thanks again for your help with the fake death scene." Sherlock pulled down the violin, the while shirt highlighting the perfect muscle of his upper body. Molly blushed, lowing her head and trying to hide it.

A burst of rapid footsteps came from the stairs. With a bang, the door was thrown open. Sherlock quickly turned his head, and saw the panicked face of Inspector Lestrade.

"Did I interrupt you?" He was still out of breath, bent down and wearily resting his hands on his kneel. "Good to see you, Sherlock. It's time to start off, someone was dead."

"Perfect time!" Sherlock shouted, jumping over the sofa, snatching his long wind jacket and rushing out. "Come on, John! New case again! We take the cab, Lestrade, you lead the way in your police car!" Not waiting for himself to finish speaking, Sherlock rushed out of the flat, leaving a shout behind him. "Quickly! John."

"Oh, God. Mrs. Huston, I'll go out for a moment." John had no time to hesitate. He put on the jacket and quickly followed Sherlock.

"Did you take your gun?" Sherlock asked on the cab, with a serious look.

"Hum...No. Why?" John frowned slightly .

"Nothing. You used to take one in case I was in danger." Sherlock kept his straight face. "I think this time may be more dangerous than before."

The cab stopped in front of an old apartment. Lestrade got out of the car, pointed to the second floor with a broken window, and said to Sherlock, "we arrived. There, the room on the second floor, it's the scene. The victim is..."

"Old Jack!" John cried out, unbelievably widening his eyes. "Jesus, it's Jack's home. I'v been there one or two times. He... He was...dead?" He looked at Lestrade, finding the answer in his eyes.

"Yes, Jack was dead this morning. His body was found by his neighbor." Lestrade explained, tapping him on the shoulder for comfort.

"We should go up now." Sherlock still kept his straight face, heading towards the scene.

Entering Jack's room, a smell of rotten assaulted everyone. Poor Jack's rigid, ice body was lying on the cold floor. His face looked green and his facial muscles slightly distorted. There was a pool of blood under his body, sherlock went closer, knelling down and started his checking.

"He was dead around ten to eleven o'clock in the morning, from his body's degree of stiffness. He got shot, obviously. Although he suffered the hitting on his head, the fatal injury should be the bullet wound on his waist. The weapon is a portable pistol," he paused for a second, "a gun which is portable but with strong fire power. It's popular in army, especially for the soldiers to be the self-defence weapons..." Suddenly, he stopped, and hesitated. "John, you said you didn't bring your gun with you, right?" Sherlock fiercely turned to John.

John was bewildered by his repeating question. "Yes, what's wrong, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't give the answer, he turned to Lestrade, and shouted aloud. "Show me the gun you found, now! The gun!"

Lestrade was confused by his over reaction as well. "I know, I know. Could you just...be quiet, okay?" He gripes, asking his assistant to take the gun and gave it to Sherlock.

It was a nice gun, small and exquisite. Sherlock hold it, the dark color of the gun looked familiar, but sending out a message of ominous. He checked the bottom then, there was a small lettering which was hard to be found.

Sherlock didn't say anything, he even looked a little bit upset.

"What's wrong with the gun Sherlock?" John walked to him, he felt weird, because Sherlock never had this expression before. He took the gun in his hand, looking at the bottom. Then he became dumbfounded, and his throat slightly shivered, but he failed to say anything.

"What's wrong with you both?" Lestrade couldn't stand, he grasped the gun and quickly read the lettering on the bottom.

"John·H·Watson." The brief words looked particularly strange.

"Is this...your gun? Why it's yours?" Lestrade broke the silence first. His eyes were full of shock, then infused suspicion.

John frowned. His lips moved, simple-hearted nodding his head but crossing his arms as a denial. Then suddenly he got mad, and shouted out, "I don't know why it is here! Listen, it's my gun, yes, it's my gun, but I really have no idea why it is here! God, trust me !"

Lestrade waved his hand, and the police in the room slowly surround John, raising their guns.

"No, that's not right, Lestrade." John tried to control himself not to be hysteric. He moved back to the central of the room, pulling up his hand and asked Sherlock for help. "Say something! Sherlock." He cried.

Sherlock still knelt on the floor, he knew there was no possibility for his loyal friend to be the murderer, but he needed to find clue, and he needed the evidence.

"Sorry," Lestrade shrugged, "Dr. Watson, I have to arrest you first. Maybe you're innocent, and I will release you until I found the evidence."

"Evidence! Here!" A voice came from Sherlock. He stood up, raising his chin toward Lestrade. He adjusted his coat collar, with a faint smile flickered across his lips. "Lestrade, it seems like your intelligence is still not enough to be a great inspector."

"Okay, you found something, Sherlock. Then, show me," Lestrade said. His hands crossed on his chest.

"Here, did you see that?" Sherlock cautiously moved the right hand of the dead body. In a piece of blood, there was an unobstructive earring, also in blood color. Sherlock picked it up, cleaning it and turning to John. "You can't kill people, I know you. And you are not so stupid to forget the weapon in the criminal scene." He scanned the earing again and again. "Woman's thing, Lestrade. Jack pulled of her earring during the rebellion before he was killed, and hide it in his hand. It's a clue," Sherlock smiled.

"So the woman, the murderer, she stolen John's gun and wanted to blame on him?" Lestrade was suddenly enlightened, and he took out his notebook, quickly writing something on it.

"I need some time, inspector," Sherlock was ready to leave, "I need to go back, and do some survey of the earing. Contact you later. John, let's go." He went down the stairs in a harry, leaving Lestrade with a blank face in the scene.

Sherlock sat in his room for a whole day. He did some chemical test about the residuum on the earing, and he lost himself in deep thoughts in the rest of the day.

The door bell was ranging. John opened the door.

"Hi, John." It's the young, smooth voice from Molly Hopper. "Is Sherlock in?" She asked.

"Yes, come in, Molly." John invited her in, and sighed. "He was busy now, and he looks irritable. Are you sure you will talk to him now? Maybe you can..."

"It's okay." She bowed her head. "I just...see if he is okay."

She entered the room, slowly walked to him closer and closer. She looked him in the back, recalled all the best time they had in the past. She thought she loved this man, this tall man who always wear a straight, well-fitting frock coat, and his eyes charmingly sparkle when he was thinking. "Sorry, Sherlock," She said in her heart, slowly taking out a sharp knife.

Molly raised the knife, her face became ferocious at this moment. When she was just about to stab him, Sherlock suddenly spoke.

"Molly?"

Molly startled, quickly put the knife right away. Sherlock stood up, turned round, scanning her. Her purple skirt looked nice, and she always wore it recently.

"Sherlock." Molly got closer, she lightly touch his neck.

Suddenly, there was something flashed in his mind, the purple color of Molly's skirt became more and more clear. As Molly was about to kiss him, Sherlock seized her by the arm. "The skirt, you wore skirt that day, why you wore skirt? You couldn't."

"That day? What day?" Molly was shocked.

"The day Old Jack was dead." Sherlock gave the cold answer.

Molly was frozen, she remembered all their conversation that morning. She met Sherlock near Jack's flat. When Sherlock asked her where she had been, she replied a totally wrong answer.

"I said I went to the theatre to practice the cello," Molly said, losing her tone.

"Yes," Sherlock gently lifted her hair of left ear, "You said you played the cello, how can you play the cello when you were wearing a skirt...at this length? England is not open as this level as far as I know." Seeing the frightened face of Molly, Sherlock moved toward her ear, and whispered something made her even more panicked. "Molly, where is your earing? The red one. You lost it, don't you find?"

Molly Hooper stiffened, and her face looked pale as death. After a brief silence, Molly burst into a shrill scream, and tears of pain flooded her blue eyes. "I just want to accomplish his last wish, he just want to ruin John, and kill you. You let him die! I helped you to fight him, but I don't want him die!"

"Sherlock! What's wrong?" John erupted the door and rushed in. He pulled Molly, standing in the middle of them.

"It's all end, John. Call Lestrade, the case is solved. I found the murderer here." He looked at Molly, the shy, lovely woman in the past was staring at him with unwilling and hatred. Seeing the unbelievable face of John, he continued to explain. "Molly Hooper, she is Moriarty's sister, I should find out it earlier. The first time I met Moriarty was introduced by her, remember? And the information in Moriarty's hand, is another doubtful problem. My brother was unlikely to give him so much useful things, then who reveal the information? It's Molly. She is another secret manipulator of Moriarty's network. "

"I don't understand, she helped you a lot. It doesn't make sense." John was confused, getting a little agitated.

"I did the several test about the earing I found at the scene," Sherlock walked to his experiment table, "I found the element of chemical medicine from it, that means the murderer is working in the hospital. Molly, I did't suspect you at that moment." He wore a plastic smile.

Molly lowed her head.

"I didn't suspect you until I saw your skirt and your losing earing. I don't want to believe it but have to. I'm rational, Molly, not like you. I said so many times," sherlock looked down to Molly, "emotions will make a person lose head. You could chosse to not appear here, but you just couldn't control yourself to come to see me, right? Love is always a dangerous factor. I need to thank you, for proved it again."

After 15 minutes, Lestrade came and arrested Molly Hooper. Sherlock fell back to his sofa, putting his palms together. He closed his eyes, blocking the shinning, green lake. His breath was so smooth, seemed like he had forgotten what happened just now.

"You are...a little bit sad, aren't you?" Sherlock got a slight push in his back.

"Sad? No, no...I always keep my feet on the ground, so I can have a good sense of judgment. Don't forget I just helped you eliminate the suspicion, my friend." Sherlock raised his head. "So...John, about the thing you have been angry with me, about my death, I am sorry. I mean it."

"Yes," John straightened and coughed, "Of course I forgive you, Sherlock." He sat next to him, paused for a while and looked at him. "The game, sherlock, will never end, you need to go on."

"Of course I will," Sherlock smiled. He reached for the nicotine patch on the table. "Just one, for today," he said to John, taking a deep breath and gently closed his eyes again in the misted pleasure.


End file.
